


Your Shadow

by thegrayrose7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, fighting with depression, mention of past abuse (physical and psychological), mention of rape (no graphic scenes), mentions of past Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayrose7/pseuds/thegrayrose7
Summary: It has been three months since the Battle of Hogwarts. Against all odds, against many hopes, Severus Snape survived his injuries. He had been hanging on by a thread when he was found, but he lived. And now he had recovered enough to stand trial for his many, varied crimes. It was time to face the consequences. He did not, however, expect for that consequence to be Cassiopeia Green.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Your Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! It's been a while since I've posted anything, and even longer since I've posted anything new. However, this idea kept bouncing in my head, and would not leave until I wrote it down. I'll try to post on a semi-regular basis, but bear in mind that I'm currently employed as a teacher (and am swamped with work as I have to teach online) and am due to take a state exam in a month or so.
> 
> Also, there is a reason why this story was rated M. There will be mention of past abuse, rape, depression and miscarriage so please do not read if these topics might act as a trigger.
> 
> As always any feedback is much appreciated and helps motivate me to write regularly! I hope you're safe and healthy!

The apartment was dim, but she did not bother with light. The first rays of sunlight had begun to creep over the horizon, struggling to break their way through heavy, dark clouds. It would rain later, she guessed, and wondered briefly whether her charge had been given warmer clothes than those in which she had seen him last. He ought to have, she concluded, but no clothes were warm enough to ward off the chill he presently endured.  
With that thought, Cassiopeia reached to her hair, scooping it up in a tight bun at the back of her head and using a charm to secure it in place. It would not do for one of the black tresses to tumble down and obscure her vision, even for a moment. She glanced at her reflection once, looking just long enough to decide she was presentable, and turned to inspect her small apartment one last time.  
Her eyes found the kitchenette first, but moved over the space quickly, knowing there would be very little of importance there to pack. She had sorted through what little food she had stored there last night, and owled what was perishable to Theresa. The rest could wait until she got back from her assignment. If she got back.  
She examined the living room next, finding little of value there, and moved on to do the same in the bedroom. Cassiopeia opened her wardrobe, and examined what few articles of clothing were left with a critical eye. She had packed well, she concluded, her gaze sweeping over the empty shelves. Only the bathroom left, she thought as she closed the wardrobe, but she need not bother inspecting it again. What toiletries she needed were safely tucked away in her bag, and she wasn’t particularly keen on wasting time.  
She was due to collect her charge in an hour, but thought it better to arrive a bit early. Merlin knew how long the minutes must seem to him. Besides, Theresa wished to see her before she left, no doubt already waiting in the office.  
She left her bedroom and approached the doors, taking out her wand in stride.  
“Accio!” she spoke, and her bag rose from its place, coming to rest in her waiting palm. Cassiopeia then turned toward the centre of the room, murmuring under her breath as she wove one more layer into her wards. She would be gone for two years, it would not do for them to fail in her absence.  
Then, without another glance, she turned on her heel and disappeared with the faintest pop.

The Atrium was remarkably quiet this early in the morning, and she strode across it a quick pace, more than aware of the interest her presence inspired in the few witches and wizards that made their way across the wide room. Some were arriving early to work, much like herself, some were leaving late. Cassiopeia nodded politely to the few she recognized, but kept her gaze glued on the lifts. She had not been this interesting in ten years, and the renewed interest brought forth feelings long buried, ones that threatened to choke her, and would serve her ill in the task ahead. She let out a little breath of relief as she reached the golden gates and quickly entered the nearest empty lift. She turned towards the atrium just in time to see two interdepartmental memos whizz their way into the lift, and before anyone else might join them, she spoke: “Level 2, please.”  
The “please” felt silly as it left her mouth and the lift lurched back, but she pushed the thought aside with practiced ease. There were no more attendees in the lifts as the Ministry found itself woefully understaffed in the wake of the war. As it were, she descended alone, save for the two fluttering memoes that seemed to hiss at one another above her head.  
The lift ground to a halt, and she stepped out quickly, hoping to find Theresa before anyone caught sight of her. She truly did not feel like forcing small talk that morning. But as she passed his cubicle, a young man stepped into her path. He was tall, lean, with dark brown hair and hazel coloured eyes. She had heard many of her younger colleagues, and some of the older ones mind you, swoon over his chiselled jaw.  
Cassiopeia, however, felt her stomach flip at his appearance. His eyes swept over her for half a second, but she was by far too skilled for this to escape her notice. It took most of her willpower to supress an instinctive shudder.  
She was being unfair, she knew.  
“Hello, Cassie” he said, offering her a dazzling smile “a bit early aren’t you?”  
“Good morning William” she replied, choosing to ignore his question in hopes of escaping the interaction.  
He was, however, not easily deterred.  
“I hear you got saddled with the slimy git” he continued as though she had replied “piss poor luck that.”  
She remained silent, glancing behind him and catching sight of Theresa as she too emerged from her cubicle.  
“Listen, he can be a real shit, that man.” he said “At times, I thought his entire reason for existence was to make other people miserable. But what can one expect, a Slytherin through and through.”  
He gave her half a shrug, as if he had proven his point.  
But William seemed to have forgotten she was a Slytherin too. And the man he was dragging through the mud had once been not only her professor, but her Head of House. Even if he did forget, Cassiopeia didn’t.  
“A Slytherin?” she echoed, holding his gaze, a hint of ice to her words “I am a Slytherin too.”  
And before she could stop herself, she added “Through and through.”  
His eyes widened a fraction, red spots blossoming on the skin of his neck.  
“Of-of course” he said, fumbling over his apology, his hand reaching to the back of his head, his gaze falling to the floor. “I did not mean to insult you.”  
No, thought Cassiopeia, you meant to insult my charge.  
“Listen” said he with a sigh, “ I know Snape can be… a bit much, so don’t hesitate to reach out if he steps out of line. I’m - I mean, we’re just a Patronus away”.  
“Of course” she replied, seizing the chance to leave the blasted interaction with some semblance of politeness. “Thank you.”  
She moved past him then, robbing him of any chance to reply. Nonetheless, it was only a couple of steps before he called: “Good luck!”  
She pretended not to have heard him.  
Theresa was waiting for her by her cubicle, having observed the interaction with keen eyes, and more than likely having heard every word. Her arms were folded on her chest, as they often were when she was worried. But at Cassiopeia’s approach, she unfolded them and left them open so that the younger woman might decide whether she would welcome the contact or not.  
At present, contact was the last thing she desired, but Cassiopeia stepped into her mentor’s arms none the less. If this was the last they saw of each other, she did not wish for her memory to be coloured by rejection. This was the only friendly, motherly, figure in her life. She could not bear to disappoint her.  
Theresa was quick to release her however, allowing her to step away to a more comfortable distance.  
“Are you alright?” asked the woman, her warm brown eyes searching Cassiopeia’s.  
But there was a reason why Cassiopeia, of all people, had been chosen for this task.  
“I’m alright” she spoke in a tone carefully void of any emotion, meeting her mentor’s kind gaze with her own, blank one.  
But Theresa was not convinced. After all, how could she be?  
“Cassie…” she said, infinitely patient “love, we talked about this. How do you feel?”  
Cassiopeia dropped her gaze, shrinking a little into herself as if that would allow her to avoid the question. But Theresa was right. They had talked about this. Repeatedly.  
Theresa had called it a part of the healing process. Personally, Cassiopeia thought there was nothing to heal.  
But she answered none the less, if only for Theresa’s sake.  
“I am…” she said, struggling for a way to express her complicated sentiment “uncomfortable”.  
Theresa’s face seemed to fall for a moment, and Cassiopeia knew she had hoped for a different answer. A better one, if only marginally so. Not for William’s sake, she understood, for hers.  
She didn’t have the heart to tell her the answer would never change.  
“Love, you don’t wear muggle clothes much” tried Theresa, as if she could explain away her discomfort. “And they suit you remarkably.”  
Much better than her robes, thought Cassiopeia. But that was by design, it was her choice to wear robes a size or two too big for her frame.  
“William must have… appreciated the change too. You’re a lovely woman, he was bound to notice.” Theresa paused at this, for a moment deliberating if it would be wise to continue “Cassie, I am certain he did not mean to be too forward.”  
Cassiopeia seemed to retreat into herself at her words, her only response a blank stare.  
Theresa fought down a heavy sigh and drew her wand.  
Cassiopeia watched as she summoned a small parcel, shrunken she guessed, and accepted it wordlessly when it was handed to her.  
“Your charge’s belongings” said Theresa, “what little was found on him at the moment of his arrest, and, of course, his wand”  
Theresa seemed wary, but Cassiopeia simply opened her bag, adding the parcel to its contents.  
“It’s up to your discretion, but you might want to keep that wand out of his hands for a while. The parcel has been charmed so only you can open it, even if he should find it, he would have no means of seizing its contents.”  
Cassiopeia nodded, but did not comment on the advice, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself.  
Both women were silent for a while, before Theresa spoke up again.  
“They placed the charm on you, I trust” she said, and Cassiopeia nodded again, her eyes still blank. Dead. Theresa fought to contain the fear that coiled in her stomach like living, seething snakes.  
Of all people, they were sending Cassie to live with… with… him.  
“If he tries anything, we’ll know” Teresa spoke, not sure whom she intended to comfort “we’ll be there before he can so much as raise his wand.”  
“I know” replied Cassiopeia, offering nothing more.  
“I should go” she said after a moment, as neither woman seemed to find anything more to say.  
“Already?” asked Theresa, checking her watch “you still have half an hour.”  
“He doesn’t.” said Cassiopeia simply.  
Something shifted in Theresa’s eyes and she seemed as though all she wanted was to hug her protégée once more. But her hands remained stuck to her sides. She knew the touch would not be welcomed.  
“My darling girl” she said, “sometimes, I think you might even find it in yourself to have sympathy for the devil”.  
For the first time, Cassiopeia’s eyes changed, the blank stare seemed to fall away, only to reveal the fury that festered beneath it.  
“No” she said, in a tone laced with ice “I killed the devil.”  
With that, she turned on her heel and left the office, the lift carrying her to lower levels still. 

The chill crept into her bones long before the lift’s doors slid open. The hair on her neck and hands stood on end, her instincts screaming in warning. Cassiopeia let out a small breath, observing as it misted in contact with the frigid air.  
Five Dementors, possibly more.  
She reached into her coat, pulling out her wand.  
There was little chance of them turning on her, but with her Patronus being what it was, she thought it best to take no chances. The beasts could not be allowed to sense weakness.  
Her steps rang loudly as she stepped into the dark halls, the sound reverberating ominously off the marble walls, announcing her arrival.  
At the far end of the hall stood a large, dark desk, a recent addition to the grim space. Only three years ago, this place had been all but abandoned, housing only a few old, dark courtrooms. Now, it was transformed into a temporary holding facility, used to secure prisoners prior to their trial. Or, as it was the case presently, to hold them until a custodian could collect them.  
This was only the second such case, one few had been expecting.  
The burly man that sat behind the desk raised his eyes from the newest edition of the Daily Prophet to observe the visitor. A silver rhinoceros lumbered lazily around his desk, creating a silvery barrier.  
Cassiopeia stepped through the barrier with little hesitation, approaching the desk.  
“Auror Green, here to take custody of Severus Snape” she spoke clearly, her tone void of any sentiment.  
The man observed her carefully for a moment, noting her apparent youth and fragile appearance.  
“The Death Eater’s keeper” he remarked finally, glancing at his watch. “You’re early.”  
Cassiopea offered no reply, so the man continued.  
“If it were up to me, I’d let the bastard rot for a week or two, then release him” he paused there “if there were anything left to release.”  
“It’s not up to you” replied Cassiopeia in that same, calm voice.  
The man scowled at her, then raised his right hand in demand.  
“Proof of identity?”  
Cassiopeia reached forward and placed her wand on the desk, ignoring the man’s hand.  
His scowl seemed to sink deeper into his features, and he seized her wand, raising it close to his face.  
“Fir wood, dragon heartstring, 10 and a half inches, supple” mumbled he to himself as he checked off some information on a long parchment.  
“Full name?” asked he, holding Cassiopeia’s wand out for her to retrieve.  
“Cassiopeia Elisa Green” she replied, the picture of composure.  
The man scribbled some more, the silence punctuated by the scratch of quill on parchment.  
“Sign here” he said, pushing another, thicker piece of parchment towards her.  
Cassiopeia accepted the proffered quill, and signed her name on the line beneath the name of her charge.  
“Is that all?” she asked as she pushed the parchment back toward the man.  
“Yes” the man said and grabbed his wand, making to stand up.  
“Is something the matter?” asked Cassiopeia, observing every movement the man before her made. Her grip on her wand tightened a fraction, expecting a confrontation.  
The man seemed surprised, halting mid-movement.  
“You are entitled to an escort to the holding cells” he said “besides, I’ll sleep better at night if I see the beast locked up just one more time.”  
“That will not be necessary.” Cassiopeia said, her voice firm, commanding.  
The man’s brow furrowed for a moment, and he tried again, hoping to reason with the woman: “With all due respect Madam, that man is…”  
“My charge.” Cassiopeia finished for the man, raising her chin “As the acting Auror in this case, I believe my judgement can be trusted. Should you have any concerns, you are free to voice them to Auror Robards.”  
She held his gaze for a moment, and the man gave her a curt nod, settling back into his chair with a grumble.  
“Have a good day” said Cassiopeia and turned on her heel, expecting no reply.

The chill took hold of her the moment she stepped out of the barrier, but she pushed her discomfort aside.  
Cassiopeia walked down a short hallway to the left, then turned right without a falter to her step. She saw the frost first. The black of the walls was covered in a thin, solid layer of unnatural ice that twinkled maliciously in reflection of the weak fire that burned in the few torches set alight in the hall. She heard the creature before she saw it. The hollow, rasping sound rattled her nerves, and she stopped in her steps, closing her eyes.  
It was just a moment she needed to reinforce her defences, and it was a moment she needed to spare.  
She was no fool. If he tried, truly tried, she had no doubt her charge could overpower her. But should he choose to do so, no testimony could save him from the Kiss. Even if it were Harry Potter himself defending him.  
She continued on her way then, and after a step or two saw the creature itself. It turned its abominable head towards her, sensing her approach.  
Cassiopeia raised her wand a little higher, but there was no hesitation in her steps.  
As she crossed the last of the distance, the creature moved towards her, taking one deep, rasping breath.  
“Not an inch closer” she commanded, ice in her words. The tip of her wand began to pulsate with a soft, white light, and the creature stopped, sensing a threat.  
“Auror Green” said Cassiopeia, echoing her earlier words “here to take custody of Severus Snape.”  
The Dementor retreated for a moment, but then hesitated, before returning to its earlier position, inching closer to the new food source.  
The pulse at the end of her wand grew in magnitude, illuminating the hall, and the creature retreated with a strange, strangled hiss.  
“I will not be asking again” said Cassiopeia calmly “you are dismissed. Return to your post in Azkaban, you will not be feeding here.”  
The Dementor hovered there for a moment more, before turning and disappearing down the hall.  
Cassiopeia held her wand at shoulder level for a moment more, distrustful of the beast, but then decided it would not be returning. She flicked her wrist, ending the spell, allowing herself a moment of relief.  
Then, wand in hand, she turned toward the cell.  
The man inside of it sat on the floor, for not even his condition had earned him any comfort, his back pressed against the cold walls.  
He was clad in an ill-fitting Azkaban uniform and seemed much thinner than she remembered. His skin held an unhealthy pallor, made all the worse by the poor lighting in his make-shift prison. The space had previously been used as an adjoining room to one of the old courthouses, but had undergone extensive remodelling in the last few months. Now it bore a striking resemblance to a cell in Azkaban. Cassiopeia knew this to be by design.  
His hair was greasy, matted, and hung limply around his face. Such was his state, that she barely recognized him at all. Only his eyes were familiar; deep, black, endless. She noticed dark, nearly black circles marring the skin beneath his eyes, betraying his weakness. What strength he had managed to save, she noticed, he was now using to glower at her with unrivalled vehemence.  
Cassiopeia raised her wand then, and tapped it against the lock, filling the room with the sound of metallic clicks that bounced off the stone walls and rang around them. One more flick of her wrist and the heavy, iron doors slid forward, grating against the floor.  
Every detail of the cell had been designed to cause discomfort.  
Her charge did not seem to mind though, his glower unwavering.  
“Master Snape” said Cassiopeia, stepping past the threshold. “it is time.”  
But Snape did not move, save for the curl of his lip as his face set into a sneer.  
“My new jailer, I presume” he drawled, and Cassiopeia found his voice too was remarkably familiar. A relic of a different time. “I was wondering whom they’d choose.”  
“I am not your jailor Master Snape” she replied calmly, taking a few more measured steps into the room “your service has been recognized. You have been absolved of all guilt. I am your guardian.”  
“And my service” sneered he at her, his eyes alight with fury “has been rewarded with a leash”.  
That last word he spat at her, but received no response.  
“What service was it that earned you your guardianship?” sneered he.  
At first, Cassiopeia offered no response. She observed her charge, her gaze guarded, void of any sentiment.  
Then, when it seemed she would not answer at all, and her charge all but threw another biting remark, she said: “I am the best Occlumens among all those currently employed by the British Ministry of Magic”.  
Some of his previous anger seemed to give way to scorn.  
“Are you?” drawled he “So accomplished that you chose to tell me about your prowess. Admirable.”  
This too, earned him no response.  
“Were you not given warmer clothes?” asked Cassiopeia, as though she had not heard him at all. She had, of course, but then again, what else could she expect? Her Head of House was never particularly amiable, even to those of his house, and the imprisonment would surely do his disposition no favours.  
Then again, he had never been this derisive either.  
“Obviously” drawled the man, his irritation with his youthful guardian reaching new heights.  
“Of course.” replied she calmly, taking no notice of his tone “I might be of some assistance.”  
She approached the iron cot that had been provided for him, noting the threadbare blanket and the lump that was meant to serve as a pillow. She had been led to believe that her charge would stay here as a guest, until such a time when she could collect him, not as a condemned prisoner. The execution of those instructions, however, left much to be desired.  
She set the bag on the cot and tapped it once with her wand. It opened just a crack, as it was bid.  
“Accio!” she spoke, and the small parcel Theresa had given her emerged, coming to rest on her open palm. This too, she set on the cot, and flicked her wrist, watching the paper grow to its original size.  
She undid the string that bound the parcel by hand and opened it, careful to stand so that in the same time she faced her charge and used her figure to block his view of the package. He had kept his remarks to himself for the moment, but his eyes had never left her.  
As expected, his belongings were few, but among them she found a set of black robes. The same pair he had worn when he was attacked.  
For the first time, she hesitated, struggling to keep hold of the defences she had so meticulously built around her mind.  
These robes might be the last thing he’d ever choose to wear. Still, she had nothing better to offer.  
“Your treatment is inexcusable.” Spoke she, struggling past her discomfort, fighting to keep it buried “I will see to it that those responsible face appropriate consequences.”  
“I’m sure you will” sneered Snape, his tone betraying he believed anything but.  
“If you want to change” she said, again acting as though she had not grasped his meaning “I can offer you these.”  
She lowered her hand a fraction, showing him what she held.  
“They were able to mend your robes.”  
Snape’s eyes moved from her to the clothes she held, his own gaze guarded. For a moment, he said nothing, his features smoothing into a stone-like mask. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was scowling again, his eyes snapping to meet Cassiopeia’s.  
“Well,” barked he at her “do you intend to stand there for the rest of the day? Give me those robes.”  
Cassiopeia’s expression remained unchanged and she approached him calmly, choosing to hand him his clothes instead of using magic to deliver them as if he were a rabid animal set to attack.  
The gesture however, went unappreciated as the man snatched the robes from her hand.  
“I don’t suppose you’ll be leaving the room.” sneered he, tilting his neck to observe her, barely supressing a wince at the throbbing pain that followed the movement.  
“I am afraid not” replied she, her tone even “but I will do my best to provide you privacy.”  
She held his gaze for a moment, before slowly, deliberately turning and stepping away, walking until she reached the middle of the cell.  
“Please change” said Cassiopeia, pointing her wand at the bag once more. “Accio!”  
This time, she summoned a piece of parchment and a quill, and with an upward movement of her wand, set them to float in front of her. She traced the quill as it moved against the parchment, her own, neat handwriting blossoming into existence:  
“Auror Robards,  
I am pleased to report that I have taken guardianship of my charge with little trouble. However, I must express my concerns with the staff responsible for supervising the prisoners. I have found my charge to be deprived of basic comforts, to the extent that he lacked suitable clothing. The clerk I found on duty today seemed all too eager to express his opinion of my charge, wasting no thought on the fact that he was addressing a perfect stranger. Perhaps this is not my place, and if so I apologize, but I feel I would be remiss in my duties if I did not express my worry as to whom else he might address and, for that matter, what he might have to say.  
Best regards,  
Auror Green”  
Just as the last few letters of her name appeared on the parchment, Cassiopeia’s charge spoke up behind her.  
“Did you think that would be enough to fool me?” he drawled, and she turned slowly, finding he had dressed. Clad in familiar clothing, he now bore more resemblance to the man in her memory.  
“I’m afraid I don’t understand” replied she evenly.  
“Don’t insult me girl.” snapped he, his anger bursting to the surface “If you had any sense, you would not be writing anything of importance in my presence. Seeing as how you’re an Auror, I am forced to deduce you are not a complete idiot.”  
Cassiopeia blinked once, but otherwise offered no reaction.  
“I assure you” spoke she in a monotone “the letter is very much real. I am reporting my findings to Auror Robards. I believe he will take appropriate action regarding your treatment.”  
This, however, only fed Snape’s fury.  
“I’m sure he’ll trip over himself in his haste to avenge my wrongful treatment” spat he at her, his eyes alight with anger.  
Cassiopeia gave no reply, but turned from him and approached the cot. As she moved, the parchment behind her stirred, collapsing into itself and folding its edges until it formed what could best be described as a muggle paper airiplane. Then it too moved, acquiring a life of its own, departing to do what it was bid.  
“I suppose that depends on the wording” replied Cassiopeia evenly, retrieving something from the package.  
Snape had been about to reply, she noticed as she turned to face him, but the words seemed to die on his tongue as his gaze fell on her hands. His features once more settled in a practiced mask and his narrowed gaze snapped to her face, attempting to divulge her intentions from the lines he found there.  
As she approached him, he drew himself up to his full height, using what advantage he was given in an otherwise entirely unfavourable situation.  
For a moment, she felt a twinge of fear, more than aware of how easily he dwarfed her. She was quick to stomp the sentiment, reminding herself firmly that she was an Auror. Should push come to pull, and it wouldn’t because this was Snape, she could hold her own.  
She came to a stop three steps away from the man, and extended her left hand.  
“Your wand, Master Snape” she said, tilting her head to meet his gaze.  
For a moment, there was silence, as the guardian and her charge observed one another, assessing, weighing.  
“And you’re…” drawled Snape, his lip curling into a sneer “giving it to me?”  
“Of course” replied Cassiopeia, as though she found nothing questionable in the action.  
“And whose decision was that?” sneered he, a derisive note to his words.  
“Mine” replied Cassiopeia, choosing to take no notice of his tone.  
A cruel smirk pulled on his lips as he accepted his wand, and he replied: “The Auror Department must be severely understaffed.  
She had seen this side of him often, but never quite so intense. And never focused on her. Does he know who I am?  
Still, it would take much more than his ire to unnerve her.  
She took a step back and pointed her wand at their luggage. The fabric of the package sprang to life, wrapping itself tightly around what few belonging it still held. It then retreated into her bag, which closed behind it with the softest click.  
“Shall we?” asked Cassiopeia, summoning her bag.  
Snape glowered at her for a moment, but swept past her in the next, his robes billowing behind him.  
Cassiopeia followed in his steps, adjusting her pace to keep up with his long strides.  
“We won’t be using the main entrance” she called as he approached the turn, and walked past him as his steps slowed. She seemed to pay no heed to the fact that he was now armed, and she had turned her back to him.  
“This way please” spoke she, walking past the corridor that would lead them to the lifts.  
The path she had chosen was used infrequently and as a consequence, was rather poorly lit. The corridor was wide enough to fit three people should they stand shoulder to shoulder and in its better days had been used to transport prisoners from their cells in Azkaban to the courthouses where they would face trial. It had been frequented in the days and months following the First Wizarding War, as it was now called, and had been largely undisturbed since.  
It was deemed unwise to use the same corridor for the recent trials, as many of the prisoners would be traversing the distance a second time. It would not do to give them any sort of advantage.  
The air around them was stale, and smelled vaguely of mould. There was a distinctive putrid undertone to the scent, but Cassiopeia chose not to dwell on its source.  
Snape’s steps were quiet behind her, but she knew he was following, judging the distance between them from the flicker of the occasional torch.  
“It seems I was mistaken.” drawled he after a few steps “You are, in fact, a complete fool.”  
“Is something the matter?” asked Cassiopeia, her words void of inflection.  
“Are you trying to get murdered?” spat the man behind her “What insanity motivated you to lead a known Death Eater into a dark, deserted hallway?”  
“I am aware of what you are, Master Snape” replied the woman evenly, not the least bit alarmed “and I am equally familiar with Death Eathers. I was raised by one.”  
This answer seemed to give him pause and for a minute or two, the odd pair walked in tense silence. Finally, they reached the end of the hallway and Cassiopeia turned right, entering a rather poorly-maintained lift. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, which appeared to have been disturbed recently, a single pair of footsteps leading to the centre. The paint had begun to flake off the walls, and on the wall to the left, there was a distinctive splatter of dried blood.  
Snape followed, his eyes narrowed, ire simply radiating from his person.  
“What is your name?” demanded he as the lift groaned to a start, rising slowly.  
“Cassiopeia Green” replied the woman, her wand still in hand.  
“And are you aware, Miss Green” snarled he at her “that some would mark you imprudent for returning my wand to my possession?”  
But before Cassiopeia could answer, he continued: “Others might find you conniving”.  
Suddenly, he turned, coming to stand so that he towered above her, threat in his voice: “Which one is it?”  
Cassiopeia’s shoulders tensed, but when she turned towards him her expression was blank, revealing nothing. The choice she made here could well determine her life in the following two years.  
“I am an Auror Master Snape.” she replied “With all due respect, I hardly believe you capable of outduelling me in your present condition.”  
She met his eyes evenly, then turned, deliberately dismissing his threat.  
“If I had judged you a threat, I wouldn’t have given you your wand.”  
“An interesting choice” scowled the man, drawing his words out “you’ve clearly undergone extensive training”.  
Cassiopeia seemed to portray the picture of indifference, acting as though her charge had not spoken at all, much less having done so with the intention of belittling her or her profession. It was only her shoulders that betrayed how closely she listened to every word, how alert she was to every miniscule movement.

She had offered no response, and Snape scowled at her for a moment more, before stepping back, directing his ire at the door of the lift.  
He was observing her still, from the very corner of his eye, and noticed how her shoulders relaxed at the movement.  
Mercifully, the lift groaned to a halt, opening its doors to reveal another bleak, albeit better lit corridor. There was no voice to announce the level they had stopped at, but Cassiopeia, for her part, seemed in no need of guidance. She stepped out of the lift, then turned to address her charge.  
“If you would follow me, please”. She said, then turned left, expecting no response.  
The hallway was short and ended in a set of heavy, iron doors. Cassiopeia approached them with little hesitation and raised her left hand, pressing it gently against the iron. There was a hum of magic as her skin made contact with the surface. She drew her palm against the door, her touch followed by a silvery line. When she raised her hand, the rune she created sank into the iron, as though it were no more solid than the air around them.  
The doors slid open slowly with an ear-splitting screech of iron against stone, and Cassiopeia stepped past the threshold into a dingy alley. She was met with a hubbub of voices from the main street, and she turned towards the sound, raising her wand at the crowd. Her eyes focused on the throng of people that swarmed past the alley, taking no notice of its existence.  
She could feel the wards in the air around her, keyed in so that only an Auror might apparate from or within the premises. Still, it would not be wise to dwell in the open for long. They had lost many of their own to the war. Unfortunately, some were lost to greater evils than death.  
“I thought you might want to avoid the reporters” she said, turning to her charge.  
Snape had followed her through the doors and now stood behind her, a sneer pulling on his lips.  
“How considerate of you” drawled he, irritation lacing every word.  
This too, earned him no response.  
“We will be apparating” continued she, as though he had not spoken at all “Side-Along”.  
She stopped then, a moment of uncertainty flashing across her face. This is Snape she reminded herself sternly, and you are an Auror. Get. A. Grip.  
“I’m afraid only Aurors can apparate from here” she said in a practiced voice, then took a small, calming breath, before offering her arm. “If you would be so kind.”  
Snape narrowed his eyes at her, but stalked forward none the less, grabbing a hold of her arm just below her elbow.  
Cassiopeia tensed at the movement, a moment of sheer panic coursing through her veins. She almost yanked her arm free of his grasp on instinct, but managed to stomp the sentiment in time.  
“If you are ready…” she said, taking a brief moment to compose herself. Then she spun on her heel and the pair vanished with the faintest pop.


End file.
